


The Other Side

by Fanlan



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1992 movie script, Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I made this because the script hurt me, M/M, abusive relationship between script zira and script crowley, script aziraphale, script crowley, script crowley is just the fucking worst, show Crowley like every other crowley loves and supports all Aziraphales
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/pseuds/Fanlan
Summary: Summary: She works in mysterious ways, keeping every timeline and every alternate version of each universe windingly like threads on the tip of her fingers. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was to fix something or maybe it was just a test, but she twisted two of those threaded universes together, making a small change in each one: switching an Aziraphale for an Aziraphale.(A what if take if Show! Aziraphale and 1992 Script! Aziraphale swapped places)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 236
Kudos: 280





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> The script hurt my feelings. If you don't know what the 1992 movie script is, I envy you and you probably also won't understand this fic that well but I still envy you. I wish I didn't read it. It hurt me.

She works in mysterious ways, keeping every timeline and every alternate version of each universe windingly like threads on the tip of her fingers. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was to fix something or maybe it was just a test, but she twisted two of those threaded universes together, making a small change in each one: switching an Aziraphale for an Aziraphale.

One story begins in a flat a few miles from the British Museum where Professor Aziraphale had just seen his Crowley. The only person he knew loved him for Crowley had told him so a thousand years ago and oh he was the only one who could put up with someone like Aziraphale, he was quite dull and anything he was passionate about was rather silly. 

He took the bus like he always did and came home as he always did, right after six, a good time for supper and then a swell time for bed. He forced a smile, entering the empty home, he glanced towards the shelves of books lining the walls. He once thought of opening a book shop, but like all his ideas, it was silly.

He ran his fingertips across the spines, puckering his lips trying to decide what book would be best to read tonight.

“Another boring night for the universe’s most boring angel, Eh?”

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered, a blush creeping across his face, it was unusual Crowley came to him. He usually had to go to Crowley’s flat or his club for meetings like this.

“I suppose I owe you some attention,” he snorted scrunching his nose like he was forced to do a chore he didn’t like, but Aziraphale knew it was such an honor to get his attention at all when he didn’t deserve it.

“Hands against the wall then,” he demanded and Aziraphale obediently obliged pressing his palms against the the far empty white wall and felt embarrassed as Crowley eyed him up and down, he didn’t meet his standards, he didn’t meet anyone’s standards really.

“As ugly as you are and as much weight as you have gained, you are mine, I suppose and only I can properly care for what is mine.”

Aziraphale cringed as he struck his rear hard with the palm of his hand making him straighten more against the wall. Slowly he felt Crowley pull his own pants down and make a noise of disgust. Aziraphale felt embarrassed that he was making Crowley’s life hard, making him have to do this, but he was weak, and he missed his touch.

He wasn’t sure if he liked his violent touch, but it was the only time anyone would willingly touch someone like him, and he supposed he should take it.

;

Another story began with another Aziraphale running his fingers across a shelf of books just as bittersweet of a touch but for a different reason. He couldn’t comprehend how lucky he truly was.

His Crowley was watching him with worried eyes, staring at the books fearing they would once more burst into flames and all they had would be lost. All they had fought for would be gone again. Settling in after the world fell apart was a bit easier said then done, there were still mending cracks they had to tip toe around.

“Right here,” Aziraphale finally mumbled and Crowley felt himself tense, “This book, right here, it was not here before the world ended. Somehow Nostradamus ended up here with the works of JRR Tolkien.”

He took the book from the shelf and held it close walking towards the back of the shop, Crowley following behind him like a shadow.

“Angel, really? Do you need to sort every book now?”

Aziraphale, for his part, ignored the love of his life and continued to move from shelf to shelf eying each tome and mumbling under his breath about where they belonged and what was new. He picked up a children’s picture book with a frown and opened it up shaking his head at the cardboard clown that popped out at him.

“Unacceptable,” he mumbled tossing the book into a box intended for charity, Crowley scowled at the box, in all the time he had known his angel he had never gotten rid of a work of literature this wasn’t like him.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley finally bellowed making his angel pause, “For the love of someone, stop!”

And Aziraphale did putting the book he had been examining back on the shelf and sighing, throwing himself in the fainting chair behind the register.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I just want it all back the way its supposed to be.”

Crowley bent down next to him and pushed their foreheads together, holding him close in his arms. The pain lacing through their hearts wound together and they just supported each other’s hurts between them in their tight hold, nothing would part them again.

“We just need a moment’s rest, yeah?” Crowley mumbled holding Aziraphale closer to him and Aziraphale clung back just as tight, “Can we do that angel?”

“Of course, my dearest,” Aziraphale mumbled allowing Crowley lead him upstairs to the bedroom where they snuggled close together, holding each other tight until they drifted asleep.

Back at the other Aziraphale, he was falling into a restless sleep himself alone in his flat after Crowley had left after they were done. Wordless as always, leaving Aziraphale with his normal shame he picked up off the floor and took to bed with him.

As the threads of each universe wound tighter together, one Aziraphale began to feel strangely comfortable in sleep as if for the first time in his entire existence someone was holding him close and another felt a cold shiver traveling down his spine restlessly tossing in bed feeling the absence of his Crowley.


	2. 2

Aziraphale could count on one had how many times he had fallen asleep or lost consciousness by other means. He didn’t recommend it. It felt like drifting through an inky void of nothing, trapped in his own corporation or sometimes worse, he dreamed. It sent shudders down his spine the disorienting affect dreaming had on him.

He had a strange one last night, spinning threads, Her coy smile, passing through another version of himself both commanded by Her to walk forward in the opposite direction of the other as the threads became taut about to snap glowing brightly, so blindingly bright it forced both eyes to snap open.

One finding himself alone in a place he couldn’t recall ever being in and the other finding himself held close and loved for the first time in his existence.

Aziraphale slowly pushed himself from the plush comforter and pausing at the nauseatingly white room he found himself in. The headboard, nightstands, dresser, and walls were a blank lifeless eggshell white. It reminded Aziraphale a lot of Heaven right down to the fact that there was very little in the room when it came to personal belongings, it was almost empty. He glanced towards the nightstand, a framed photograph of Crowley smoking a cigarette and leaning against his Bentley, his clothing indicated maybe 1960, sat there framed by white. He picked up the photo, frowning noticing for the first time he was wearing a pure white, fresh pressed and stainless satin white nightshirt.

Aziraphale sat the photo back down on the empty nightstand and turned on the simple ikea lamp, glancing down at the floor, he found his feet hovering over a pair of simple white slippers (nothing like the pink bunny ones he was used to) and stainless white carpet.

This place was sterile and lifeless, devoid of personality of any kind. He walked into the master bathroom and it was just as lifelessly white, spotless and looked barely lived in. This place reminded him a little of a showroom, just here for looks, no one expected you to live like this.

Unlike Aziraphale’s own restroom, this one was modern and sleek and well, like everything else, very white. Clean, pure, spotless, a place to make Gabriel proud.

He glanced at his reflection, it was his face, he ran his fingers across bruises running down his neck adding some color to his lifeless look. They didn’t hurt, but they were uncomfortable. He considered healing himself but just left them be for now.

There was a zipped-up bag hanging on the back of the bathroom door, hesitantly Aziraphale unzipped it with shaking hands, he could only sigh at the new white tux hanging there. Aziraphale slipped it on figuring it wouldn’t be proper to wear only his sleep wear through the day.

He walked out of the bedroom and found himself walking into a rather small living room space, just as spotless and white as the bedroom but this at least had two bookshelves and a large modern looking painting hanging on the back wall to break up the white of the furniture and walls. The kitchen just left of the living room of the small flat was just as blinding and just as lifeless, but it had everything Aziraphale needed to make tea, so he put on the kettle on the stove.

Walking towards the fridge, he spotted a magnet, another of the few signs of life to the place. It was pure black with red lettering reading: Crowley’s Hell Pit. His heart caught in his throat, Crowley, there was a number he could reach him at the bottom! If anyone was to know what was going on, surely it would be him.

There was a phone hung on the wall next to the little breakfast nook pushed up against the small window. He dialed the number and held the cordless phone against his ear as he glanced out the window, his flat appeared to be in a residential neighborhood, not quite the busy streets of Soho. There wasn’t a shopping place within walking distance, it all seemed to be small homes and small apartment complexes lining the street and smashed tightly together. Nothing but white fences and well maintained gardens around him, a sterile setting for a sterile home. Not a rich neighborhood but not a poor one either. He frowned, if this was a punishment from Heaven like he was beginning to think, it was an odd one.

A soft female voice answered, she had barely given her mandated greeting before Aziraphale cut her off demanding to speak with Crowley.

“Mistah Crowley says he don’t want to be bothered---”

“I want to hear those words from him,” Aziraphale spat impatiently, maybe it was a bit pushy of him but he was sending a minor miracle through the line, making the woman know she had to get her boss on the line or something terrible may happen. He was well practiced in tempting; he wasn’t usually so pushy and tried to remain civil about it but nothing was feeling right and he needed to know if Crowley felt this way too.

A second later she had forced the call on Crowley, feeling the desperate urge that he needed to answer.

“Last night wasn’t good enough for you?” Crowley sneered into the phone, “I don’t know what the fuck you are thinking, but---”

“Please do not use such a rude tone with me,” Aziraphale stated firmly, “And for Heaven’s sake Crowley, its ungentlemanly to speak in such a way while your employees are standing in the room.”

“Oh yeah and I’m sure its plenty polite to just place thoughts in their pretty little heads that the world will end if they don’t do what you tell them,” he said with a chuckle and Aziraphale felt himself flushing at that. He really didn’t intend to be so beastly, but he was anxious, he was sure he would make it up to the young woman soon.

“When did the universe’s most boring angel grow so ballsy anyway?” there was something in his tone that felt dangerous, every sense was telling him he wasn’t going to find any answers or help from this Crowley.

“First you cheat me, now you are tempting mortals?”

Aziraphale recalled training before being assigned his gate in Eden, he was barely listening to Michael and when they noticed he wasn’t, they painted quite the hypothetical. An angel, caught off guard by a demon, tempted with sweet words then dragged into a pit of hell to be tortured, they were very good at painting gory scenery. His Crowley had never given him reason to think of the hypothetical demon who would snatch an angel just to torture them for all they had lost but the hissed chuckle alone from this Crowley was setting off alarm bells.

“But then again, maybe I’m putting too much into this, you probably aren’t meaning to do this, are you Aziraphale? Just fucking up like always. What the fuck you calling for anyway?”

“I don’t think it quite matters, I can figure it out on my own,” Aziraphale hissed through clenched teeth slamming the phone back on the receiver just as Crowley was demanding he not do that.

He would just have to figure this out on his own. 

;

In another world, another Aziraphale woke up in a much better mood, although he wasn’t any less confused. He blinked blurry eyes open to Crowley sleeping with his head pressed into his own shoulder, in such a vulnerable position. He once told Aziraphale he would never be caught like this around the opposition, you never knew when even someone as worthless as Aziraphale could get lucky. He ran a hesitant finger through his red hair, tears misting his eyes.

“You stayed,” he found himself whispering. 

“Ngh,” Crowley grumbled slowly raising his head and blinking the sleep from his eyes, he frowned seeing Aziraphale’s tears.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he whispered gently placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose and the tears began to stream faster.

“You stayed,” he choked out once more, “After everything, you stayed…with me.”

Crowley misinterpreted the words and pulled Aziraphale close to him, allowing Aziraphale to squeeze him back, not getting mad even once. He let Aziraphale hold him, he didn’t let go. He allowed Aziraphale to trace his fingers down his back, to breath in his scent and to rest his hands in his beautiful red hair. It was just as soft as he had always imagined it would be.

“Of course, I did,” Crowley finally answered pulling away from him slightly, “I would never leave you. No matter what the hell you say or do, I been chasing you for six thousand years, afraid you are rather stuck with me.”

Aziraphale was convinced this was a dream as Crowley let him rest his head on his chest and ran gentle fingers through his hair until he relaxed enough to fall back into another doze but he was sure it was a good dream.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, I'm starting to feel more comfortable with short chapters. Will make longer chapters as the plot thickens but for now, I might just keep them short to keep a better update schedule.

In Heaven, it was expected of all her angels to be like this, devoid of color and a radiant light. All dressed in pure white, they were saintly, pure, untainted. Devoid of life and personality, it was for demons to wish for uniqueness and you didn’t want to be demonly. The archangels had always gotten away with spots of color in their uniform but someone like Aziraphale, someone who had always messed up more then once, was expected to be only pure in her kingdom. On Earth he could fit in and wear his comforting tartan but once away from the sins of Earth, away from his corporation, he could only wear white.

Anxiety flared through him as he sat in the pure white bedroom and tightened the white shoelaces of his white dress shoes. He felt like a ghost, something not meant for this world, more ethereal then he had ever felt in his existence. 

Crowley was no help and he would not attempt to contact him again. He just needed to get his bearings so to speak. He had found a planner inside one of the nightstands and it had a list of appointments for this week, might as well start there, see how he was supposed to live here and then go about gathering intel.

Here he was Professor Aziraphale, curator of The British Museum. A tad bit on the nose, if you asked him, an immortal being working alongside historical works of art just as immortal as he? Being such a public figure, he was surprised he didn’t have his own conspiracy pages dedicated to him on the web. His neighbors weren’t always polite about him on the web according to Crowley, but they wouldn’t have strong evidence he was anything less then human, a strange human he had been called, but he wasn’t in the public view enough to be that suspicious. 

Another oddity he had found looking through the planner, the dates at the top of the pages. The year was 1992 instead of 2019, there was a 27-year difference between wherever he had landed and his own home.

This could only be punishment from heaven, perhaps he was locked in his own head? Cursed to live through some strange scenario where Crowley was a horrible brute and he had no choice but to deal with the public and his books were gone. The few books he had on the two shelves weren’t exactly his first choices when it came to casually read, art and religious theology and a few paperback romance novels? Really now, whoever designed this room home had no imagination.

There was a library card in his wallet he had found atop the schedule book, but borrowing books was not the same as owning your own copy. They had no personality to them, no personalized messages from the authors themselves or memories attached, and they were always in a dreadfully depressing state.

He didn’t have his phonograph either nor any of his collection of records, he did find a small and rather pitiful looking handheld radio (just as ghastly white as everything else) but no matter which way Aziraphale twitched the antenna, he couldn’t pick up any stations. In his frustration, he had thrown it back in the cupboard he had found it in and felt a smug satisfaction in hearing it smash.

He could only assume any of his personal art and sculptures or scripture were donated to the museum. The only painting didn’t meet Aziraphale’s hefty standards, it was nothing more then red and blue lines and dots on a white background. There was a signature at the bottom it looked to be just a blob and squiggle mashed together on first glance but the more Aziraphale looked at it, he realized it was a rune.

He stepped up on the white leather love seat to get a better look, squinting his eyes at it, drawing power from in him to open his true form’s many eyes. It wasn’t just one rune, but half a dozen cursed marks littered across the ugly piece of art. Painted in invisible ink, really whoever made this took a lot of time to put such minor curses all over so an ugly painting.

In a misstep on his part, he pressed his palm against the painting during his inspection and his skin began to sizzle. He yanked it away immediately, his flesh tender, raw and red with a curse of misfortune embedded in his palm.

He began cursing as he lost his balance and landed hard on his rear with a loud thud. That’s what he needed, a demonic curse on him to top off this horrid day.

Lucky for him, this likely wasn’t permanent, it wasn’t meant to be. Misfortune curses faded from their victim after a few weeks and due to his ethereal healing, it would likely only be a few days or less for him. He had never been good at scrubbing curses from hosts, but he wasn’t as rubbish at it as poor Crowley. Crowley once managed to somehow scrub a curse off a mortal and onto himself, Aziraphale kept his giggles to himself after ridding his friend of the little bugger.

His palm began to glow blue as he mumbled a prayer in Enochian and gritted his teeth at the burning, it was like putting his hand on an open flame. When he opened his eyes, the mark was still there but less red, it would fade in a few hours, in the meantime he would just have to watch out for misfortune. 

“I’ll take care of you later,” he hissed at the painting before checking his schedule and realizing he needed to be at the museum soon.

;

A book shop, he owned a book shop.

Aziraphale had never felt as divine of a feeling as sitting in a lovely antique 18th century plush chair and opening a copy of Wild without having to take a trip to the library. A lovely little mug sat next to him, a pearly white thing with angel wings as handles! It amused Aziraphale to no end, he spent more time admiring it then partaking in the tea Crowley had poured for him before he announced he was going to water his plants.

Aziraphale didn’t dare question him, his Crowley had never owned a single plant in his life and this Crowley hadn’t mentioned the night club once.

The best advice Michael had ever given him was to never question, never take your blessings for granted, everything is how She intends it to be and you must cherish it. And oh, how he cherished this situation, it was like a reward from Her after a lifetime of endlessly enduring. He wasn’t entirely certain he earned this reward and he secretly feared someone was suffering in his place, but he just couldn’t bring himself to focus on such things.

The shop and loft were overwhelming, Aziraphale had grown so used to sparsely furnished spaces. Something Heaven and Crowley would be proud of, something he could pride himself with, admiring his own virtues and self-control. This place though, it wasn’t very angelic at all, it was like a robber’s hide out. Cluttered and overflowing with art, furniture, and so much literature. Aziraphale hadn’t seen this big or vast of a collection since the great libraries. Unlike the great libraries though, this place had no system and would take decades to sort through every book and millenniums to read every single tome.

He was tracing his finger fondly over the personalized message from Oscar Wilde when the doorbell rang out. He had wanted to meet Oscar, but Crowley hadn’t let him. He told him his parties were a waste of their time and not to mention sinful, Crowley was always watching out for him and keeping him from falling. Always helping him to be his best so Heaven might take notice of him again. 

“You haven’t touched your tea or gotten dressed,” Aziraphale nervously began running his teeth across his lower lip at Crowley’s disapproving tone. He had wanted to get dressed but there were so many options, so many varying colors to choose from, not like his own collection he updated every decade. His other self-seemed to save everything, the clothing went back centuries and he wasn’t sure what he should wear. A part of him just didn’t feel up to getting dressed, he had never tried going off schedule before and just felt like wearing his rather comfortable tartan pajamas instead. His other self dearly loved the pattern! Bow ties, handkerchiefs, jumpers and pants!

“I have never broken my schedule before,” he admitted not meeting Crowley’s eyes and keeping his eyes on the curved signature of Oscar Wilde, “I am a bit overwhelmed if I can be honest. I feel like I have been ever since the antichrist came about.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of rest I suppose,” Crowley shrugged collapsing, all jagged limbs on the fainting sofa, “But you have been acting a bit off since last night.”

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered keeping it to himself he knew he didn’t belong here and praying Crowley would never find out, “I just need time to adjust after everything. I am terribly sorry if I---”

He cut himself off, not used to lying, he just went back to being quiet. He read Wilde’s personal message again, imaging it was really for him, Live Life Beautifully- love always, Oscar Wilde. He ran his fingers across the message again.

“Would you mind terribly if we go out for a meal?” Aziraphale found himself asking, he didn’t know when he ever became so bold, but he felt bold today. It felt like the start of a new life, a blessing from her.

“What? Dressed in your PJs?”

Aziraphale finally cracked a smile to that, he was confused but he wasn’t angry.

“Of course not! That would be improper! Just because I wanted a slight break of schedule doesn’t mean I would ever be seen in the public like some vagabond!”

Crowley began snickering becoming more comfortable in his spot and grabbing a rectangular piece of technology out of his tight jeans that lit up his face as he glanced at it; the reflection of on his sunglasses had a bird symbol and a line of photos and text as Crowley scrolled down. How strange, technology must have advanced faster in this dimension. He knew better then to question it as he rose from his spot and left the room to get dressed.


	4. 4

Aziraphale knew the British Museum well, it was a popular place he and Crowley would meet at to discuss the arrangement. Even more recently, they had taken Warlock to this very place together disguised as his private tutors and got into several heated discussions about history and art and good and evil.

Walking through the vast halls, quickening his steps and glancing once more down at his schedule book for the exact area he was looking for, he felt like a stranger here. He felt more like he didn’t belong then he had before.

His gaze lingered on a group of school children gathered around the renaissance paintings, marveling at the fall of the angels. Aziraphale quickly turned his head from the painting, nearly running into a young woman and her push chair. He attempted an excuse me, but the woman impatiently hit him with her chair again, making her toddler squeal with glee at the action. Aziraphale frowned stepping out of the way, he expected that behavior from Crowley when he was swaying Warlock, but really, to teach your own children such rude behavior was uncalled for.

His palm, covered with a thick white bandage until the mark faded on its own, began burning and itching something awful. He just needed to get to his meeting he told himself, he would have rather skipped it now that he was cursed and focused on that, but this seemed important to his endeavors. He was meeting with Ms. Anathema Device; a job interview it seemed.

He remembered the young lady from the airfield and if anyone could help him, it would be the young woman who owned the only known copy of Agnes Nutter’s Nice and Accurate Prophecies.

;

At the same time, another Aziraphale felt out of his element, he really wasn’t good at playing by ear. He didn’t know how to lie or even withhold the truth, he had very strict standards for himself as an angel and as someone worthy of Crowley’s time. It was easy to behave for his Crowley, he just had to be quiet and not do anything too stupid and Crowley would give him proper attention when no one was looking. This Crowley, this Crowley, genuinely respected him and valued him, he didn’t know how to act around someone like that he was finding out. 

More then that, other people respected him as well, the kind waitress at this establishment referred to him by ‘Mr. Fell’ and asked him about his day and if ever finished repairing that transcript that had been giving him problems and she genuinely seemed to care about the answer!

He wasn’t accustomed to lying but he thought he would have done a better job if he hadn’t squeaked and loudly asked for a menu to change the subject.

“Alright,” Crowley finally stated after he had to take their orders after another mini meltdown on Aziraphale’s part when his brain temporarily shut down and he was unable to answer the simple question of what he wanted. He didn’t know, what did this Aziraphale like? Would he give himself away not saying the proper thing? After several tense seconds of Aziraphale just staring blankly at the menu, Crowley ordered their sushi for both of them.

“What’s up with you?”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale choked as he fumbled to take a drink to keep himself from having to answer, oh, why did he think going out before he became accustomed was a good idea?

“You are acting…” Crowley paused seemingly fumblingly with his words, face contorting and rolling his wrist trying to say the right thing, Aziraphale felt another lurch of panic and for the first time in his existence, used his miracles in a way they weren’t meant for.

The waitress seemingly tripped over nothing and crashed into their both, toppling her tray of drinks onto Crowley’s lap.

The lunch was ruined and the subject was dropped, leaving a growing pit of anxiety to grow in his head, making simple thoughts and actions harder to come by.

;

The airbase felt like a lifetime ago and it had possibly not happened yet considering the year of this universe but whatever the case, that was indeed Anathema Device sitting in Professor Aziraphale’s office. 

The young woman sitting behind the white marble desk (because of course his office would follow the same color scheme as the home) fared a resemblance to the young woman who Crowley had struck with his car. Same lovely face, same round glasses, same immaculate style of a flared blouse and long skirt that some might describe as vaguely witchy, but it was rather surface level. The way she held herself was off, no longer head strong but rather meek. Her shoulders caving in on themselves trying to make herself smaller and giving away her lack of self confidence not quite the young lady he saw at the airbase ready to take on Satan himself if she had to.

Aziraphale cleared his throat upon entering and the young woman jumped, shooting her head towards him. Aziraphale smiled politely at her and took his seat behind the desk.

“So sorry I am so late, Ms. Device, but I ran into a bit of trouble this morning.”

Sitting down in the chair, he noticed Anathema’s eyes on his bandage. She seemed polite enough to not bring it up instead she gently nudged her head towards the basket of goodies he had failed to take in on entrance. As far as he knew, it wasn’t out of place.

“Ms. Polly was in before you arrived, she wanted to wish me luck in getting her former position and asked me to personally see to it that you got her gift.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of her.”

A pause stretched between them, the silence making the young lady squirm in her seat. Aziraphale used the brief moment to take in his surroundings. The office was quite large, his desk closer to the back wall and the rest cluttered with file cabinets, book shelves, statues and wrapped paintings. It was like a wearhouse collided head first with an office space leaving this mess. Aziraphale briefly eyed the back of the room with a small breakfast nook, rich white marble like his desk, with an expensive looking check board sitting on it, one chair by it reminded Aziraphale of the throne Crowley had commissioned for his home and the seat across from it was a modest foot stool really. What a strange choice in furniture, it was clearly not chosen by the owner of this office but someone else. Someone trying to make a strange point.

He took an unneeded deep breath making Anathema straighten as he turned back to her.

“I’m going to cut to the chase as they say,” Aziraphale said changing the subject, “If you desire the job as my personal assistant, you shall have it and I am going to assume you knew that too, my dear. I hate to be rash, its rather crude of me to spoil this important event for you, but I am in a rather large bind as it were.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she seemed unsure of herself, like she wasn’t too sure she could do that for him and Aziraphale felt like biting his own tongue to keep this poor woman from being forced into another troublesome series of events after all they went through this past week alone.

“I would like to borrow your copy of the Nice and Accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter.”

Another pause before any hope Aziraphale had were shattered.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what book you are referring to, professor.”

Anathema Device didn’t know about her own ancestor’s book, the book that had helped divert the apocalypse, the very book that had saved him from Heaven and Hell’s wrath's.

“How is it we met, Ms. Device?”

There was a panic setting in him that he didn’t meet the young woman in the same manner he had in his dimension and oh, bother, this was becoming an awkward encounter rather fast.

“You are acting rather odd, professor, are you alright?”

“No, I don’t think so my dear,” he admitted with a sigh and shake of his head, “The position is yours whether you would like it or not after this disastrous and I’m sure rather confusing interview, would you mind leaving me?”

Anathema nodded, glancing at the bandaged hand once more before wishing him well and promising to be here in the morning. Aziraphale gave her a polite smile before turning his attention to the gift basket from his former assistant. He didn’t feel it was proper of him to read the personalized note not really meant for him, so left it hanging where it was and only helped himself to the bottle of French Wine. He popped the cork and felt his misfortune mark burn once more as it exploded all over his white clothing.

A simple ‘blast’ would have surmised for the situation and it was at the tip of his tongue, but it came out an echoed ‘fuck’ that had many parents casting disapproving looks towards his door and ushering their children out of the museum.

;

After the utter failure that was his meeting with Ms. Device, Aziraphale felt too disheartened to complete his appointment book. He had a class at three teaching the finer points of authenticating art, an auction to attend at five to secure a gala with an upcoming artist, pick up a book from library between appointments, and a very important meeting with Crowley he would certainly be skipping at six. Sadly enough his other self had also penned in supper at 6:30, reading till eight and a bath before bed.

Was he associated with Heaven here? There were no notes on reports, he lived completely like a mortal and then spent the other half of his time at Crowley’s beck and call.

Aziraphale tossed the schedule book into the nearest waste disposal as he marched down the street, he missed his bus thanks to the lovely curse on him (the driver shut the door in his face and nearly ran him over when he angrily tried to get the driver’s attention jumping in front of the bus!) and every pay phone he had attempted so far to call a cab short circuited on him.

His flat was an hour’s walk from his current location, and it would be a long one as well with everyone staring at the large red stain on his pure white suit. He supposed he would miracle it away, but knowing his luck as it was now, he would only likely find himself dealing with Gabriel about ‘superficial’ miracles. 

He paused momentarily to sit on a street bench and pull out his wallet, he took a glance at his library card, it was the one in Bloomsbury and finally some luck it wasn’t too far from the museum. It was just a crosswalk away before he could finally get away from the large afternoon crowd and enter the library.

It was fairly busy inside, filled with student from the London University mainly (the place Aziraphale needed to be currently but didn’t care enough to go) studying and not paying any attention to Aziraphale as he slowly made his way through each aisle of shelves, taking in every book and letting himself find solace at long last after such a horrid day.

He just needed to find one person on his side, one person to turn to understand the differences between the universes and find his footing. He had yet to find it and only found himself tripping over his own feet at every turn. One step forward was just another fall backwards to where he started from so far.

He caught a familiar face sitting behind one of the computers, staring at the off screen with dismay.

“Excuse me,” he asked politely walking towards the young man who immediately shot his head up, looking rather like a dear in headlights, possibly even a rabbit in headlight something that knew the threat was going to do a great deal more damage to them then they would to it.

“Hello, professor,” the young man mumbled looking back towards the computer. If Aziraphale’s memory served him well, this was the young man who stopped the nukes from going off during Armageddon saving countless lives.

“You look rather familiar, have I met you before?”

“Um yes, you have,” he said looking rather embarrassed like it was something Aziraphale should have known. He had checked his personal calendar several times and Newton had not been mentioned once, maybe he was his student?

“I’m afraid I’m having trouble getting a hold of a taxi, do you suppose you could help me out? Do you have a personal phone on you?”

“Afraid I can’t afford nothing like that, professor, but I was going to see my Uncle today and you two live in the same building so I can give you a lift.”

“Splendid, just let me check out a few books and we can go whenever you are ready, Mr…?”

“No need for the mister part, Professor Fell, just call me Newt.”


	5. 5

Books on curses and demonology were a bit like the lottery. It was all about luck whether even an iota of truth ended up in the pages. Trickery ran in the blood of demons or the equivalent of blood anyway, they loved to mess with the minds humans over the centuries and well, Aziraphale was no saint, he was just as good if not better at passing around false information on demons to get back to his higher ups to get away with his own faults.

Summons and curses and counter curses and anything occult, it was all random chance it would be documented right and even more random chance one would just find that information in your public library.

Still, Aziraphale had selected a few books on the subject feeling he was willing to take that chance now and tossed in a few books on prophets while he was at it. New universe, new rules, he was going to assume. Nostradamus was a hack in his timeline, he may not be here. With no Agnes Nutter, well, he found himself rather desperate.

Newt eyed the large stack of books he carried to the checkout counter and immediately took half watching them begin to topple.

“It’s a bit of light reading, dear boy,” Aziraphale said easily enough but by the looks Newt and the young lady manning the check out gave each other, they didn’t believe this many books would be anyone’s ‘light reading’.

Newt hastily offered a cardboard box he had in his trunk to the professor, almost demanding he take it to not break his neck walking downstairs with the large stack of books and the librarian was quick to agree fearing for the books’ safety. Aziraphale huffed at them but figured it would be best to just take their offer.

;

Crowley had been sent up to the garden of Eden all those thousands of years ago and was given one task and came out of the garden with something much grander, a much diviner task to assign himself to. His eyes had only really seen Aziraphale since he mumbled he had disobeyed the lord in such an innocent way, he wanted to protect a pregnant woman. Crowley knew from then on all he wanted out of his existence was that angel safe, the only one who belonged to the lord and not the bureaucracy like the rest of Heaven (and soon Hell).

The point of his stewing thoughts, the point was, he lost his thought again glancing at his angel sitting so small in the passenger seat. Aziraphale fidgeted with his waist watch, picking at it on his lap before setting it down and folding his hands in his lap, trying to find a point himself to come to.

Aziraphale glanced towards the radio, Buddy Holly’s It’s a Kind of Magic was playing, and the song even made Crowley raise an eyebrow. The radio was set to the BBC Traffic Station and the Bentley usually let him hear the news without cursing it into a Queen soundtrack. Slowly the more Aziraphale stared at the radio, the more it slowly morphed from Queen into Buddy Holly’s Every Day. 

Aziraphale looked away, eyes wide and panicky, tightening the fingers in his lap and biting hard into his lip as he tried to focus on the M25 coming into view.

;

“Do you mind terribly if we stop by the British Museum, my dear?”

They were back in Soho now, five more minutes till they got back to the shop and Aziraphale wanted to swing back to Bloomsbury. Aziraphale had been acting off since his breakdown early that morning and now the Bentley was even off, deciding on a different musician the first time since 1970 and already taking control away from Crowley and listening to the angel. The old girl had always loved Aziraphale, softening her seats just for him and adjusting the temperature just for him not caring a lick about Crowley’s well being but she had never just changed Crowley’s destination like this on Aziraphale’s ask.

Crowley scowled taking his hands entirely off the steering wheel and relaxing his foot from the pedals, the damned car was taking control. It didn’t normally do things like this unless it sensed something was off, something it felt Crowley didn’t see.

After the bandstand before the world had ended, Crowley had planned on going back to his own flat to pack his things knowing he would have to run soon, but the old girl made him go to Soho first, playing nothing but songs about Angels on the way there.

Crowley scowled, watching the car drive herself, he was around for the ride whether he liked it or not.

;

Guilt and shame were familiar feelings now, they had been with Aziraphale since the beginning. Heaven told him these feelings were good, he should feel them. He would not truly be good or good enough if he wasn’t ashamed of his actions and realized he could always do better, Crowley told him he would never be less worthless if he didn’t feel these things and oh did Aziraphale want to be something. He was so ashamed he wanted that, Michael had always made sure to tell him of his selfish desires she felt, he was meant to love not be loved and the only time he had ever felt close to loved was with Crowley.

And this Crowley, he didn’t even make him offer anything in return before he loved him. It was so selfish of Aziraphale to do these things to him, make him believe he was an Aziraphale worthy of that kind of devotion. Lying was wrong and he was utterly horrible for considering it in the first place.

He had to tell him the truth and he felt he could only do that in a familiar setting, the museum had been his home for over fifty years and it would be the best place to tell this Crowley who he really was.

;

“Where you been?”

Aziraphale hadn’t even unlocked the door and it was being yanked open. It was strange how you could know someone so well and yet they come off as a stranger and the only real difference could be dyed hair. It was foolish to think the only difference between Crowley was black hair versus red hair, Aziraphale knew, but he had spent the centuries admiring the shade and how it always defined his fiery attitude so well.

“I wasn’t aware that was your business,” Aziraphale stated primly giving him a look that challenged him to keep standing in his way and the Crowley saw enough sense to move and allow him entrance in his home.

He kept the borrowed box close to him and didn’t allow this Crowley (maybe he should refer to him as Crawly, he didn’t deserve his dearest love’s name) to take even a peak at his books.

“That isn’t what I meant,” he groused inviting himself to flop on Aziraphale’s love seat while Aziraphale himself continued to the kitchen, putting space between the two. He was about to set the tea pot on the stove when it magically put itself on.

He sat down at the breakfast nook and waited; Crowley was likely to say his piece before he left. He might as well have some patience and tell the demon off properly this time. Until he got his chance at that, he began to unpack his borrowed books.

“You are different today, angel.”

Crowley had sat across from Aziraphale and had taken it upon himself to pour them both a cup of tea, Aziraphale was never one to forget his manners even in front of crass individuals and thanked him sincerely for the action.

“Yes, well, so are you,” Aziraphale said adding a lump of sugar to his tea and kept his eye on the dissolving cube to keep from looking into Crowley’s glower, “I am aware you are a demon and I an angel, but that doesn’t mean we have to keep so close to the normal definitions now that we are connected to neither side.”

“So, you aren’t my Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale took an even sip, keeping a close eye on the demon’s actions, watching him drum his fingers loudly against the table.

“But you are definitely Aziraphale, I would be able to sense if you weren’t just like I assume you would be able to tell if I weren’t Crowley.” 

His drumming quickened and his lips perked in thought, he could be just Crowley like this. He could be his best friend and love of his life if he stayed this way, but there was something darker just bellow the surface. Aziraphale could sense his intentions and desires, they felt like a building storm, Aziraphale couldn’t tell you the details of what he wanted but nothing he wanted of him was good. He was right though; he did feel like Crowley. A much darker Crowley.

“Your assumptions are correct.”

Aziraphale’s eyes hardened as Crowley’s hand snaked forward and caught his bandaged hand, caressing it, holding it with a strange sort of love. Aziraphale didn’t act, allowing him to unwind his bandage and run a loving touch over the curse mark.

“You know me then, Aziraphale, you know I am on your side.”

He placed a gentle kiss on the curse and it slowly faded from existence. It tingled a moment making Aziraphale squirm, but Crowley only held his hand tighter almost threateningly.

“Unhand me this moment!” Aziraphale finally spat yanking his hand from Crowley’s grasp and pulling it defensively against himself, fists clenched, ready to strike if needed. 

“Calm down, my angel,” he stated putting his hands up and giving Aziraphale his best shit eating grin, “We got off on the wrong foot, but I want you to be aware, I am on your side. When you come to your senses on that, come find me at the Club.”

He pulled a business card from thin air and slid it across the table towards Aziraphale before graciously taking his leave.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright some fun notes! 
> 
> 1) So if you wanted to read the script, it was unfortunately taken down for legal reasons. BUT I can tell you where you can find it to read it privately, just message me on my tumblr fanlan1. 
> 
> 2) if you read the script, you know it takes some weird routes. I am not using all of them. I will explain this deeper later but I am basically picking and choosing what I feel like. 
> 
> 3) the chapters might start getting longer now since I am going to be getting more and more into the plot, so updates might start getting slower.

Aziraphale, angel of the Eastern Gate, hid himself from her creations in the garden but felt a need to have a better look at the humans his mother had created. He felt nothing short of child like wonder to all his mother had created down here in the garden. He had never seen so many colors and unlike the cold indifference that was beginning to cloud Heaven, there was nothing but his mother’s love here. 

The garden bent to Aziraphale’s will, he chose to go unseen as he explored the paradise before him, and no one saw him except his mother. Unbeknownst to him, demonic eyes followed him as well, slithering in the grass as he unrobed his corporation to bathe for the first time in the holy streams the demon could not enter.

;

“Can I ask you something, dear?”

Aziraphale had held off on this topic so long, haunting the halls of his old workplace with Crowley at his side. So similar, yet so peculiar.

“Don’t see anything wrong with asking,” Crowley said with a shrug sprawled across a bench as Aziraphale stood primly in front of a portrait of the Angel Gabriel looking a bit like an exhibit himself. 

“Do you think its possible for Her to answer your prayers but in ways you would never have expected, in such a way you almost fear it might not have even be Her who answered you?”

Crowley made a confused noise and just stared at Aziraphale making him sigh. He didn’t want to just blurt it out, he wanted to walk into the explanation slowly, but he didn’t think that would work.

“I’m afraid I have deceived you,” he didn’t dare turn around to face Crowley, he never wanted to see disappointment on this one’s face, “I’m not the angel you feel such devotion for.”

;

As far as Aziraphale was aware at this point, the fallen angels were far behind Heaven. The war had come, and it had gone so long ago at this point he was beginning to become hazy on details. Then again, he was often called dimwitted, mother had made him this way for a reason and that reason was unknown to Michael. Michael was often angry with Aziraphale, the anger came from love though for everything came from love from divine creatures like angels. Aziraphale’s true form had been crippled and rendered useless during the war after he had foolishly put his sword down to one of the fallen, he had wanted to spare his fallen sibling, give them a chance and he had been punished for such stupidity. Michael liked to remind him of that.

The Garden was his second chance and he was told not to mess it up; it was his last chance to prove himself worthy.

He didn’t take his duty as seriously as he should have, he lounged in the soft grass, enjoying the feel of it against his new corporation. He was disrobed and soaking in the warmth consuming the berries as he had observed Adam do so earlier that day, it was just as pleasant as Adam’s content sigh had implied it was.

He jumped slightly feeling a snake, one of Her newest creations, slither over his thigh and then twist around his waist. He smiled gently running a chubby finger over the moist skin, he had to admit it felt wonderful to the touch.

“Hello, my new little friend. Where did you come from?”

The snake hissed its tongue playfully into his ear making him squirm but the momentary mirth was ruined when the snake spoke to him, something he had been told only man would be able to do.

“Why, Hell of course, angel.”

;

Crowley had thought there was something off with Aziraphale, but he would know if it was someone inhabiting his angel’s corporation. He had spent thousand of years feeling the pulse of his aura, following it into countless amounts of danger and had even briefly inhabited that corporation. He knew what Aziraphale felt like, he would know if it wasn’t Aziraphale and the problem was even if he wasn’t acting like his Aziraphale, he felt like Aziraphale. You can fool even the most acute mind with a good performance, but you can’t fake how an aura feels.

Crowley and Aziraphale had simply lucked out, their respective head offices were very surface level, they had the corporations, it must be them. Acting alone was well enough from unimaginative minds but Crowley had two things: plenty of imagination and an encyclopedic knowledge of who his angel was.

This was Aziraphale, he knew it was, it couldn’t be any single creature from Heaven, Hell or Earth, but there was something wrong with him. Something off. A deep laced pain that had been there but hadn’t been this strong, hadn’t consumed him like it consumed him now. 

He ghosted behind the angel as he nervously waded through the galleries, taken to giving Crowley a tour, a slightly confused and extremely misinformed one but a tour none the less of the new exhibits.

“I do not know what an ‘smart telephone’ is but I assure you, it can not give you accurate information better then a curator or tour guide,” he was mumbling to himself looking at one of the plagues on the wall offering downloadable app.

He had yet to elaborate on the deception he thought he was doing to Crowley, he seemed to have lost the nerve to discuss it at all. This was not out of character, once Aziraphale had desperately wanted to come off a topic so badly he had insisted they both partake in the running of the bulls. Crowley had never been discorporated, but he became very close that day.

A group of lost school children began to gather around the angel as he began explaining DaVinci’s work to Crowley as if he had never met the artist in question. Crowley groaned loudly knowing he lost the chance to snap Aziraphale out of whatever he was doing.

Crowley flopped down on a bench and just observed. Aziraphale liked children but he was never this good with children. He was patiently talking with them about the history of renaissance paintings and even explaining in a way they would understand like he was used to and dare he think it, enjoyed teaching instead of hiding from the very prospect of being surrounded around people that long.

If this wasn’t his Aziraphale, it wasn’t something harmful. It wasn’t someone who had harmed his Aziraphale and sealed him away, this soul was innocent as the children he bent down next to and told a silly made up story about angels who looked after these artists and that’s why they loved painting them so much.

After a few moments, a teacher came to collect the children and Aziraphale waved them off with a sweet smile. Crowley rolled his eyes noticing the luck blessing he sent to every snot nosed brat who listened to him with awe.

“I love children,” Aziraphale told him quietly, sadly as he approached him once more, “I always loved when I was tasked with tours before my promotion to curator. I loved telling them of history and exaggerating just enough to keep them engaged and filled with a fantasy that everything was perfect. When you tasked me with Warlock, I was so happy.”

Tears were slowly spilling from Aziraphale’s eyes and told an earnest story about someone who had loved the hell spawn Warlock Dowling. The loss and sorrow and grief sank into the quivering lips and tightening fists trying to pull himself together.

“What are you and where is my angel?”

Crowley tried to make his sentence threatening but he just couldn’t manage it, Aziraphale was filled with guilt and sorrow that Crowley didn’t understand, and it just filled him with an anger he had yet to feel before. An anger not meant for the being in front of him.

“I am Aziraphale, just not your Aziraphale, I am so sorry, I am so sorry trying to make you love something like me.”

Crowley hated the eyes on them and with a snap time had stopped, when it started up again the two supernatural beings were gone. Almost as if they had never been there at all.

;

Aziraphale was simply not created to kill, it didn’t matter if they were fallen angel, he just couldn’t bring himself to make the final blow. His grip tightened on his sword and brought his wings into the physical plane as a reminder of what happened when you hesitated in battle. He ran a finger across the stump that had once been a full feathered left wing, oh it had once been glorious. It had a span longer then his arms would ever reach and feathers that reflected the light of the sun and glowed like the full moon. A dazzling pearl white incomparable to any jewel yet to be invented.

His right wing would never even glow like that again either, the beauty he once had lost. The edge was severed off and it was raw even after all this time, the feathers had never grown back after he was to be the first angel to be damaged with Hell fire. Nothing healed a burn from the fires bellow, it would always look fresh, raw and damaged. It almost looked diseased and damned, boils still pussy across scarred flesh and it had a foul odor to it of brimstone. It tinged with pain as Aziraphale sadly ran a finger across it.

“Oh Mother,” he prayed kneeling at his post on the East Wall looking down towards the Garden where he had cowardly just left a demon to roam, “What can I do? What should be done of this? Please give me your wisdom and strength.” 

“Aziraphale, my beloved and gentle son,” he looked in awe up towards the radiant light that cast down upon him. The gentle breeze felt like his mother’s touch and he knew it to be Her, She was holding Her child in love and mercy despite his cowardly nature. 

“You must have faith in what I say and never turn your back on my command even with the consequences that follow.”

Aziraphale bowed against the ground, submitting himself fully to his mother and her words, what ever she said was just. It would always be the correct action even if it didn’t seem so at first, he would endure whatever she asked of him.

“Heaven will not understand my orders, my child, they will turn a blind eye to you, but you must always know I will never do so as long as always believe in my divine will.” 

“Yes! Of course, Mother! I would never doubt you!”

Time was meaningless here, it bent to Her and Her angels, but even still Aziraphale felt it begin to pull. A strange feeling bubbled in him, he didn’t have a word for it yet, but it twisted and made time feel like it was passing at alarming rate.

“You must let the demon do as he came to do, the right path is for the humans to fall my child and you to stay among them.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand what She wished of him but he agreed none the less and even knowing the consequences would never truly be prepared to lose Heaven and the angels to cut him entirely from the folds without truly falling.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late! I didn't intend it to be this late! I had a very stressful month and it was hard to write much in that time.

Aziraphale hadn’t left his flat in three days and it was starting to look as if he would never emerge.

Aziraphale sat behind at the table frowning at the map he had taped to the wall next to the phone receiver. It was a large map of London he had picked up the last time he had gone to the market to stock up on supplies before his self-imposed solitude truly began. There was a scattering of red tipped pins sticking from it marking each spot it was possible Heaven had set up base. He couldn’t find a single summoning circle in the flat nor the office he had gone back to just to request off time days before. The normal area in Bloomsbury was nothing but a vacant office building undergoing construction. 

In his world it would be very unwise for him to enter Heaven after the farse he had lucked his way out of, here it was his only choice of finding information here. It was his only chance of finding out what was happening and what needed to be done about it.

He sighed turning away from the map and picking up Nostradamus once more and flipping through his familiar prophecies.

Somewhere between deciphering old prophecies he had uncovered a lifetime ago, one he had found to be true and one that had been false; he felt a sharp pain travelling downwards. It evolved to a light headache and soon found himself gripping the side of the table as a dizzy spell hit him. This hadn’t been the first time it had struck either.

He set his book down on the table once more before staggering towards the couch for a lie down, he hadn’t needed sleep before, but he found he needed it now. He hadn’t yet discovered the rules of this reality and new ones were always coming out of nowhere to strike him from behind. This corporation didn’t seem able to run properly after two nights without sleep and a day running on nothing but caffeinated tea. He had to wonder if the answer was the corporation or was it his essence? How much was it damaged not being where he belonged? Not connected to his normal sources of mana his essence absorbed to perform miracles?

He felt a pang of panic rise before being violently shoved down with a snarl from Aziraphale just glancing his hand, just because he didn’t sense the curse didn’t mean it couldn’t be there still. Demonic curses were deceptive like that.

He picked the phone up and staggered into the living room, flopping down on the sofa. He had piled a hefty stack of take out menus for occasions like this, Anathema was a dear to help him collect them all before he went on his ‘break’. He just grabbed one at random and began to meticulously scan every item on the Chinese food menu. By the time another dizzy spell made his vision momentarily blur, he had decided on… he paused checking his watch, dinner. He did a double take, he would have sworn it was noon last he had checked the time, when did seven sneak up on him?

He slumped into the love seat and just stared at painting he had propped up against the bookshelf. He had tossed a sheet loosely atop it to keep anyone from accidentally touching the curses, but the sheet was beginning to slip, one of the hideous red dots making itself known. 

He groaned loudly tossing the phone aside, not feeling up to his usual apatite, the nausea and dizziness didn’t compare to the exhaustion. It settled in his bones and weighed him down. His eyelids sank shut and there was no hope of them re opening.

He woke something blaring, whaling and echoing. So loud it had cut into his slumber and infested the final moments of his dreams. He had been wandering through a thick fog, he heard Her just ahead of him, she spoke in a language he knew but it all sounded backwards. Almost Enochian but distorted and jumbled, Her words more of a puzzle then normal. The sound that had woken him broke through the fog and confusion like the beacon of a lighthouse, blaring, whaling and echoing making Her words drown into it.

He blinked his eyes open, too groggy to be frustrated trying to process where the noise was coming from. Letting his head fall lazily against his shoulder, he realized it was the door. Blinking away the sleep he realized it wasn’t quite as loud as he once thought, more like a gentle tapping. Nervously becoming louder than becoming quiet.

It was unbecoming of him really, but Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood for company after the lack of progress he had over the days. Days that amounted to nothing. He felt the failure bubbling in his core and found himself slumping over staring once more at the painting. It mocked him, faltered his progress.

His rage subsided as it often did, he heard concerned voices on the other side of his door nothing more than a faint murmur. He leaned against it, knowing he should feel ashamed for ease loping and being a poor host but the fatigue and frustration gnawing at him kept those feelings at bay. Crowley often called him a bastard and he couldn’t deny it to himself any longer he was.

“---you know Professor Fell, miss?”

“No, not well,” Aziraphale felt sympathy for the sorrow in Anathema’s voice but didn’t rush to open the door hearing her speaking to Newt. He recalled them getting on nicely in his own world, maybe a friendship with someone her own age would help this Anathema come out of her shell.

“I am his assistant and just want to make sure he’s feeling well, he hasn’t been in the office in days. He was only scheduled for a three-day break; he’s been gone six.”

“As long as I have known the Professor, he’s been a bit strange. A lot like my Uncle Shadwell, but well, nicer. More likely to heap praise on you while he just goes about in the strange way he does rather then strike you with a cane and demand demons get from your head.”

“What kind of uncle---”

“That’s just Uncle for you,” Newt said with a light chuckle that turned nervous and Aziraphale could only imagine both young people turning beat red averting their gazes.

Maybe it was being a slight bastard to get stay away from the awkward conversation he couldn’t explain to the poor young woman, maybe it was simply in his angelic nature to want the best for people, but he found himself subtly tempting them both to act on the hormones that could only come from young attractive people meeting each other by chance.

“I need to be going Miss Device before uncle wakes and wants me to clean the rusted ‘holy’ swords again for the coming apocalypse.”

“It’s Anathema, Mr. Pulsifer, I think I may go down to the bakery a block over to get my mind off the Professor, would you mind accompanying me?”

Aziraphale wiggled in victory at the stuttered yes. They seemed like a lovely couple and Aziraphale hoped he had just pushed them together again.

;

Adam Young was sitting awake in his bed, unable to sleep again. He should be asleep, his mother assumed him to be, yet here he was awake and staring out into the moonless night. Dark nights like this were truly the worst. Adam remembered when nights like this weren’t allowed to exist in Tadfield but after meeting Crowley and Aziraphale, he had begun to fear those nights. Fear the idea he could lose control like he had before and nearly killed his friends, if it wasn’t for Crowley, the world would be gone. His real father would exist still if it wasn’t for Crowley telling him how to rid the world of Satan’s war.

He shivered lying back down in bed, staring off into nothing, he was afraid of losing control, of becoming his real father but he had Crowley. Crowley was one of the few things that made sense now.

No matter how he shifted, he couldn’t become comfortable again. Each toss bringing up another memory of his so-called friends backing away in terror, each turn reminding him of even the witch, the person he considered his friend, holding a knife over him ready to kill him.

His parents didn’t understand his sudden change, chalking it up to a bit of a scrap between him and his former gang. He bunched his fists around his bedding and bit his tongue to keep the snarl to himself. It wasn’t much of a scrap between them when it was just them who looked at him with venom and hatred now, who whispered among themselves, gave him shallow pity behind hate filled eyes.

He rose from his bed and walked from his room, maybe he intended to get water or maybe he intended to just watch the Telly until dawn knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep again. Whatever his intentions had been, they were forgotten hearing the phone ringing from the living room. He rushed to answer it before the noise woke his parents and he would have to face their worry. He opened his mouth to tell the person off, calling like at witching hour wasn’t right. He ought to make whoever it was learn some manners, maybe he shouldn’t care what his powers did to the person on the other side, they were the one being rude not him.

“No need to get your knickers in a pinch,” he felt himself deflate at Crowley’s voice, “Set the phone down kid, I need to talk to ya in person.”

Adam did as instruct, putting the cordless receptor down on the couch and in an instant Crowley was sitting next to the device, cool as ever, flashing Adam a smile showing off his sharp teeth in thanks.

It always felt like Crowley just knew when Adam’s control was slipping or he was falling into despair, he just appeared whenever needed.

“I sensed you needed me lad and thought to drop by on my favorite charge.”

He patted the seat next to him and Adam clambered next to the demon, resting his head against Crowley’s chest as the TV turned on. Adam used to do this with his dad when he was upset but it was harder to turn to someone who didn’t understand the problem.

The BBC 5 was showing Doctor Who and Adam felt himself relaxing knowing this was the demon’s doing, getting the channel to show his favorite show allowing his troublesome thoughts to melt away.

“Do ya think there are other worlds out there, Crowley?”

Crowley hummed in agreement snapping his fingers and hot chocolate appeared on the coffee table just for Adam.

“‘Course they do,” he said with a shrug as Adam took a sip from the cup, “Thousands of them, all up there, waiting for people to discover ‘em.”

Adam’s mind was filling already with the boundless possibilities, the adventures that could be had, the worlds only Crowley could properly show him. In his own way, Crowley was like a time lord himself and Adam liked to imagine himself being the Doctor’s companion. ‘Course, he was a cooler companion. He wouldn’t be just a sidekick; he would be just as cool as the Doctor himself.

He was rambling about his fantasies out loud but found himself trailing off. Crowley was usually more playful about his silly ideas; he usually didn’t sit in silence like this. He had a distant look on his face as he petted Adam’s hair and nodded along to the words he had stopped saying.

“What’s a matter with you?”

“You remember Aziraphale, don’t you Adam?”

Adam nodded, he did. The angel who always smiled and always had love to give, Adam didn’t know him well, but he seemed alright and he was important to Crowley.

“He’s not himself and I fear he is being controlled by something and I can’t help him.”


	8. 8

Newt was bad at a lot of things and hadn’t done a thing right in his entire life if you asked his uncle, but he must have done something right for once to be sitting across from Ms. Device. No, he began fidgeting in his seat across from the woman in question, she wanted him to call her Anathema.

“I’m sorry, is there something on my face?”

Newt jumped a bit realizing he had been staring at her and choked nervously into his hand trying in vain to regain his ability to speak. Anathema sighed and sat her cup of tea down, finger tracing over the flower logo. Newt couldn’t help but be a little entranced by the delicate movement, thin tan finger with a dazzling sparkle on each nail. Neat and pristine, she reminded Newt a bit of a doll. Everything from her hair to her perfectly round glasses to her long flowing dress suited her, seemed made for her. He wondered if all Americans were like that, he hadn’t met many, but she seemed like the kind of person he would see in a movie.

His uncle would be calling her a witch, he often called women Newt talked to that and it often made it hard to keep a steady relationship even if a first date went well.

“So um, you, ugh...work for Professor Fell?”

She nodded in confirmation and Newt found himself writhing in agony deep inside. That was already established information, she had introduced herself as Professor Fell’s assistant. What a stupid thing to ask, he wasn’t good with talking with women or anyone for that matter. His uncle was a good man, deep deep down where no one else would see of course, but he had never properly taught Newt how to socialize. All he had ever had to go off of growing up was how to properly tell if a person was a witch or not and usually, even if they didn’t meet the criteria, his uncle firmly told him they were.

“Tell me, do you remember what happened last week?”

“I’m sorry?”

Newt couldn’t recall anything worthwhile that would connect him with the woman across from him at all. They had just met properly after all. Seeing her from a distance as she came to and from Professor Fell’s home when he came home from the dorm surely didn’t count as an encounter they could have shared together last week.

“I’m referring to the end of the world, I find that some people recall it. I feel like you should be one of those people.”

A pregnant pause stretched out between them; it would have been complete silence if not for the jazz music playing softly around them. Newt took a long sip from his tea and glanced around the café trying to find something else to concentrate on. They were the only patrons here and the barista had once more disappeared into the back.

“I suppose they don’t truly recall it,” Anathema began immediately back tracking on her own words, dragging her perfectly manicured nails across Styrofoam leaving small indents.

“It’s more like…” she paused trying to find the proper way of saying it while Newt began gnawing on his lip, thinking immediately of Uncle Shadwell and something at the edge of his mind sounded like his uncle nagging him to leave.

“Déjà vu?” Newt wagered a guess hoping this conversation would be dropped soon, this was going into a territory he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to enter.

“I suppose so; that is one way to put it,” she agreed with a tiny nod glancing back towards the barista who had finally emerged from the back, a frown on the woman’s pretty face. 

“I don’t have those kind of feeling about the world ending, though,” Newt said with a firm shake of his head, he was the kind who second guessed everything but this he was sure of. Last week he had to use the last money in his savings to pay his loan and realized he likely wouldn’t be a college student for long after he had lost his job once more after Uncle had threatened his boss. He had come to realization he would not become a programmer of any kind after he had fried another computer and realized the last paycheck would have to go on the rent for Uncle’s apartment he would be moving back into soon. His dreams ended but the world, he was sure, did not.

“Are you sure?” Anathema pressed, maybe she wanted her voice to be strong, but it came out just as shaken as Newt felt.

“Fairly…” Newt began gulping hard enough to swallow the half said ‘certain’. He wasn’t certain of anything now and it never seemed proper to lie.

She stared at him, squinting her eyes in a funny way either showing she had poor eyesight or was trying hard to concentrate on something. A growing dread filled Newt either way.

And then the woman opened her mouth and all thoughts of dates and luck in getting a girl like her to notice him were out the door. The old tales of witchcraft and demons and evil were ushered back in his mind after he spent so long burring such ridiculous thoughts.

;

The old quarry hadn’t been the same since then. Pepper didn’t have a name for what had happened, she just referred to it as the then. They weren’t the them anymore, not without Adam, they were just Pepper, Wensleydayle and Brian. Before the then they were the them, now they were just disjointed normal children.

She sat by herself on the worn-down lawn chair Adam had once used as his throne, mildly swishing a twig around. She was a knight without her king it felt on days like this and she was the only one who cared enough to hold down the fort and keep Greasy Johnson’s gang from laying siege. 

Beside her was the only companion she had left, a lone canine who lay by Adam’s former throne and stared forlornly off into the distance waiting for a master who demanded Dog stay and hadn’t given any instructions after that.

Pepper scratched behind the mutt’s ear earning a tiny tail wag before she finally got up from the throne and tossed her sword aside.

“I am gonna go get some burgers,” she stated firmly to the dog, “You stay here, and you maim that twat Johnson if’n he even glances at our territory.”

Dog didn’t answer her, but he stared at her in an understanding way and licked her hand in affection. The mutt appreciated Pepper more then anyone at the moment and she shared a strong kinship with him, she took care of him until Adam pulled his head from his arse and returned to them.

“And I mean it dog,” she said firmly wagging her finger, “You have to man the fort. I won’t have you laying about!”

Dog didn’t respond, they both knew it was an empty threat. They both missed Adam and were waiting for a boy who may never return. They only had each other in their misery and loneliness.

;

Fell was not a normal person, but there wasn’t anything occult about him either. He had always considered him a benign threat at most, his quiet, religious neighbor who always made time for Church and stayed to himself for the most part. 

Shadwell had been kicked out of his share of flats over the years and had his share of neighbors he felt without a doubt were witches (the harlot he lived across a few years back came to mind) but Fell had just come off as odd. Quiet book worm who gave Shadwell kind greetings, gave gentle advice to Newton on occasion as they passed one another down the hall and his best quality yet was he never questioned Shadwell. No matter what Shadwell was bringing in the building, no matter what the authorities said about him when they came to the door, he never had a single opinion about it. 

He didn’t have many thoughts in his head, maybe not a single opinion that was his own, just a boring southern pansy. The type to keep an eye on to make sure they aren’t trying to seduce ye or yer kin but not something you put your entire focus on. Compared to the lass who beguiled the hearts of young men like Newton to purchase her foul coffee, Fell wasn’t worth much thought.

He wasn’t exactly that neighbor anymore, however.

Newton had brought it to his attention first the week before over their weekly dinner night together. Shadwell didn’t want them, and Newton didn’t seem too inclined to come home these days, but it was just the proper things families did together, so they did it.

“Has Professor Fell been acting strange lately?” he had asked not touching the beans nor the toast Shadwell had prepared for their dinner. Canned beans and wheat bread were cheap and easy to come by, perfect for Shadwell’s witchfinder army. Newton never found it that amusing his uncle only prepared what he thought a military would use as rations for their meals but had never voiced that complaint.

“Daft pansy tried to convince me to go to church with him a few weeks ago, thought it would be ‘good for my immortal soul’ or some such nonsense and when I told him of my life’s works that will keep me soul from the devil and on the side of angels, he just shut up. But that’s what I like about Fell, he ain’t in our business like the last neighbor.”

Newton frowned in that way he did, a thousand complaints somewhere up in his head but as usual, he didn’t voice.

“Madame Tracy quite liked you, Uncle,” he mumbled, and his uncle’s snarl shut him up immediately.

“I was merely asking about Professor Fell because he’s not acting himself. I saw him in the library yesterday and he didn’t know who I was.”

That caught Shadwell’s attention, he snapped the flask he had been drinking from shut and spilled more then a drop in the inside of his jacket in his hurry to put it away.

“You think he be bewitched?”

Newton frowned and thought about it for a moment, then merely just shook his head.

“I don’t think its anything like that, I just think he’s over stressed again,” his nephew said with a sigh, “Like last year, remember when he stopped going to church and how sad he was? I think its just another one of his episodes like that.”

Shadwell frowned; he didn’t recall that. As long as he had known the man, he had always put him to the side of his mind, hadn’t notice any such episodes like Newton did. Of course, the boy was always better at picking up little details like that. He would make a fine witch finder private if he would get this computer nonsense from his head.

“I just think the professor needs a friend, I suppose, and I think you could use one too uncle. You are both lonely.”

“You taking me for some pansy who is so desperate I would just—”

Newton immediately redirected the conversation jumping up with his hands out, waving the white flag and just giving up on whatever thought he was getting at like he normally did. Newton would make a fine witch finder if he had a spine.

“Never mind, never mind,” he practically yelled tripping over his words and already backing towards the door done with this conversation and this visit, “Listen, I gotta go. Take care of yourself, Uncle. I’ll see you next week.”

Shadwell wrapped his cigarette, deep in thought, sitting in the wreckage of their family dinner. His stick was more paper with only a thin lair of tobacco by the time he got done rolling and got around to lighting. He burned his finger as the rolled paper lit faster then it should, burning down to his fingertip.

He didn’t pain the pain any mind as he began setting up a board just for Fell, maybe he wasn’t who he had always appeared to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: 
> 
> Shadwell and Newt were not in the script, so I am literally doing whatever with them. I know I can just leave them out but idk, I think they are important enough to add. And I like playing with the idea they are relatives. I think that's a lot of fun to play with. 
> 
> Anathema is our witch and the one who predicts the future in this universe. I still find it an odd choice but whatever, in this universe Anathema is our Agnes cause that's what the script was getting at. 
> 
> Pepper was probably the closest to Adam in the script so when it comes to the them, I'll focus on her more in this universe but I'm not going with the stupid choice of making Brian a bully. He's still Adam's friend but is more afraid of him now. Madame Tracy was his mom in the script but again, I didn't like that choice. You'll see later what I changed with her. 
> 
> Dog wasn't in the script either but I like dog and I'll explain what happened later. The horseman were not in the script either and they will be plot points later on because the script dealt with Satan, not Heaven or the Horseman.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little bite size chapter setting up more of Script Aziraphale and Crowley's messed up relationship.

The rebellion was over, things were supposed to revert to normal and operate the way they should in Heaven. Yet there was a problem, an angel who didn’t follow instructions the way he had sworn to, an angel who had strayed from the path and allowed man to fall. These things might not have been the issue if something was done about them, but She had done nothing about these turns of events. She turned a blind eye to the angel and the angel Aziraphale had not fallen for his insubordination.

The Archangels oversaw him, and The Archangel Michael had been trying to save face. She had tried reasoning with the council and the Metatron themselves about Aziraphale’s failure and tried to convince them maybe there was reason. 

“Aziraphale still stands before us? Does he not?” She had wagered to the council. Every angel, even the lowest ranking on the council, saw through Michael. She had reason to want to admonish Aziraphale from blame, it would tarnish her image and could revoke her status on the council as head Archangel and begrudgingly forfeit it to Gabriel. Gabriel, who sat in her place, on her throne to the left of the Metatron, was more than happy to put the blame on Aziraphale and knock his sister down a peg. If Aziraphale was at fault, then Michael was at fault, she oversaw this assignment. She wouldn’t be harmed, no, but her pride would be and that was the same as death in her book.

Aziraphale writhed in agony on the cold marble floor and only wished he had been allowed to continue to wear his corporation. He wished for the arguing to stop and for what was just to happen to him. He had followed Her order, he knew in his heart that was true but the more they talked of him like something foul and something that plagued them with his mere presence, he began to second guess that. He didn’t doubt Her, he doubted himself, he doubted he hadn’t simply been tricked by the Snake of Eden. He doubted everything about himself. Michael was wise and wasn’t meant to lie, that was unbecoming of a general and leader, he was simply simple. That is how Gabriel put it, he never got assignments done properly for the lord made him simple, small of mind and lacking thought. He was there to be led, to listen and obey. He didn’t need a thought in his mind and every time one came about, he ended up in front of the council. 

He had grown too accustomed to his lovely corporation, maybe he had been too spoiled by it. In his corporation, in the garden, he had felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had felt content. He had felt safe and as if everything that had happened with the rebellion was far behind him. As if hell wasn’t just bellow him and the world would be the new Heaven for him to enjoy just as much as man.

The anxiety had returned along with the pain as his eyes, half blind now, could barely take in the faces of the council before him. His wing twitched nervously, and hot pain shot through him, it felt like he was being consumed by hell fire once more. He kept his head down, the eyes on his face the only ones able to see the faint outlines of his superiors any longer, a part of him wanted to run but this form could barely inch forward anymore, his wings would never taste the sky again, he was at the mercy of whatever they saw fit. He swallowed thickly and that was just, he was a default angel with no purpose. What did heaven need with him? 

“…what use is an angel who can not perform their function?” he distantly heard the Metatron state and each member of the council mumbled in agreement.

“He has not fallen,” Michael bellowed indignantly, stomping her foot, no longer regally arguing for one of her own but throwing a tantrum. Maybe another Crowley from another timeline would suggest she had invented the action, but his Crowley didn’t always have a sense of humor he would find in time.

“We should simply discipline him! Make him bleed for our mother’s forgiveness, I shall of course be the one to administer his punishment as his superior officer.”

Aziraphale whimpered at the mere thought, being bled of his essence would be a death sentence. He felt golden tears streaming, it would be just and it was what he deserved but he had wanted to aid humanity to make up for his mistake, he didn’t want to end his relationship with Adam and Eve on such a sour note.

Aziraphale had gone so long being ignored by his betters, he never imagined they would have heard nor cared for his prayers.

“And how would you make amends for this travesty?” the Metatron stated, it was not a cold statement, it lacked any emotion and that seemed to sting more.

“I can...I wish to…that is if I’m allowed the chance…” Aziraphale was shaking, trying his best to state his case but only found himself tripping over words and starting his thoughts over again as the council glared past Michael focusing solely on him.

“Speak your mind Aziraphale!” The Metatron spoke, every angel bowing their head at their boom. They were the voice of God and when they needed to be, they were the voice of authority. She only spoke through them since the rebellion and that was becoming a rare occurrence, they had learned quickly to speak with God’s divine anger to keep the angels in line.

“I just wish for another chance, please, that is all I ask. Another chance to prove I can do right by Her.”

There was a pause, it stretched through the ages and the end of it was another big bang with the volume and absolutely of the Metatron’s command.

“Very well, Principality Aziraphale, you will have your chance to protect humanity from evil.”

Aziraphale would have felt relief if there wasn’t a catch to the request.

“Since you have not fallen, we can only assume it is Her divine will you continue with your purpose, but we shall not bail you out of your foolishness any longer. You are to do this for forgiveness, Principality Aziraphale and you shall not be allowed to return to Heaven or speak upon Heaven until we see fit you are forgiven.”

And so began the next six thousand years alone, far away from the host and far from his home, with only a demon he would delude himself into thinking was truly a messenger for Her and just as capable of forgiveness as he for company.


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I promise to try to update faster

Aziraphale had seen The Sound of Music once and only once. He had heard there was a movie, but he had kindly refused the offer when Crowley joked they see it. He had seen the stage play, opening night and had been bright eyed and jittery that Crowley wanted to take him anywhere.

He didn’t enjoy that night at all, the singing was horrid, the story vapid and the seats Crowley had gotten for them were uncomfortable. Maybe he would have enjoyed the spectacle of it all a little more if Crowley wasn’t still on call as a tempter of Hell that night. The audience made the experience nightmarish. 

Crowley had brought up the frightful play a few weeks earlier and smiled that smile telling him the exact kind of Nanny he would be for Warlock Dowling.

Aziraphale felt that shudder pass through him and instantly shook it away compiling his very best smile as he rang the Dowling’s doorbell. He felt more out of place then normal, he felt insecure with his pixie cut and plain pure white dress.The gardener Crowley had hired gave him a sneer as he walked up the drive way, eying him over and mumbling to himself he wished Crowley had hired a better looker to work with. Aziraphale hoped the redness left his cheeks before the door was answered, he knew he shouldn’t care what people thought of him but he had hoped Crowley’s employees would give him more dignity and respect then that.

After an eternity an exhausted Mrs. Dowling finally opened the door, a screaming babe yanking hard at her hair. The young mother looked ready to collapse under the stress and Azirapahle’s heart ached for her. His smile was genuine as he held out his arms offering to take the fussy baby.

“Hello, Mrs. Dowling, I’m Sister Francine and I would love to fill the role of your nanny.”

Azirapahle was a little surprised but over all pleased the woman shoved the screaming child into his arms and grumbled to follow her.

;

The moment Crowley had ushered the angel into the Bentley, he had deflated. Collapsed into himself gasping and whimpering out tears like dying breaths before just going still. He was alive, he felt his soul deep down pulsing, his corporation was still warm with life, he had just fainted it seemed. The emotional weight he had been carrying finally doing him in it seemed.

He didn’t know where he was going. He made way towards the shop, arrived in Soho and got back on the freeway not long after. He stopped briefly in Mayfair, sitting idly inside his parking garage contemplating bringing Aziraphale---no not Aziraphale. He wasn’t Aziraphale, not his anyway. He sat in the parking garage for a little over an hour just thinking of taking this being in his flat and tying him to a chair and leaving him there until any of this made sense.

Threatening the being until he cracked and told him exactly where his angel was.

He sighed, putting the Bentley in reverse and going towards the M25. The Bentley wouldn’t let him take this being if he meant him harm, it had a soft spot for gentle beings and the old girl was convinced this being was his Aziraphale. He tried clicking on the radio, but the old girl cut it off when the being began to shift.

He attempted to get off on the next off ramp. The plan forming in his head wasn’t much but it would do. He was going to stop at the next tavern, get drunk and go from there. Always had his best ideas while drinking, it turned off that pesky part of his human brain he was stuck with that screamed his actions were wrong. That was the real problem with corporations he was beginning to muse paying close attention to each sign except the speed limit, they came with safety precautions to keep the bloody things running. Imagine what he could do if he didn’t have to worry about dragging around detached limbs or worrying about how this body couldn’t technically last that long under water.

His inner rambling distracting from the impending anxiety was interrupted by the Bentley refusing to let him exit the freeway. He folded his arms and scowled at the wheel steering itself now, annoyingly going the speed limit.

“Ya didn’t want to go back to the book shop either,” he reminded the car, “Made me drive past it. Where the hell else are we going to go for real answers?”

The head lights flashed at a sign that read 160 km Oxfordshire, there was only one place in Oxfordshire the car would want to go.

“The witch is human,” Crowley said with a shake of his head, “Won’t have many answers from her. Too young to understand the vastness of the universe, even with her book. And if you want answers from the boy, that’s a lost cause. No telling how much of his power he even has left after that little reset.”

“Better off going to seeing Shadwell and ‘is fraudulent army, maybe that scam artist angel plays bridge with on the weekends now.”

Crowley just chuckled but the car was dead set on taking him to Tadfield to solve this all and that was where they were heading. Things always seemed to begin and end there after all.

;

Aziraphale couldn’t carry a tune to save his life and his angelic voice his resume had proclaimed had turned out to be false rather quickly. He talents with the guitar were even more pitiful. Poor Mrs. Dowling had politely allowed him to strum, each cord sounding more like nails across chalk board, cringing the entire time while Warlock screeched along with the atrocity he presented as music.

He sat the guitar aside with a little ‘hmph’ and picked the baby from the basinet, easily soothing him with a small miracle.

“I’m afraid, its been quite some time since I performed, madame,” he mumbled, embarrassed and hiding it well with maternal nature. He had been nannying since Cain and Abel, he found he was quite good with babies. They didn’t tend to judge his failures.

“It’s fine,” the woman said with a shrug just taking in the bonding between the baby and the angel, “I’ve never seen him get along so well with anyone before. We had another nanny before you and she only lasted a month, he would not get along with her. I don’t care if you did lie about playing the guitar, you’re hired and can start now.”

Aziraphale smiled convincingly enough holding the baby closer and swallowing his guilt knowing Crowley had cursed the last nanny to fail. It was a necessary evil when it came to saving humanity.

;

Anathema was considering moving.

She had completed all that needed to be done in Tadfield and didn’t see much use in staying in Jasmine Cottage. Her mother had paid off the rent for the next six months if she wished to stay but that was the thing. She didn’t know why she should. Her part had been played, the story had come to an end and she was free to whatever epilogue she wished to write for herself.

She turned the TV off before immediately turning it back on. It was hard to make your own narrative when you had only ever been part of someone else’s. She didn’t know how to play the main character only ever knowing how to be a side character in a much bigger picture.

She was twenty-seven years old and she felt like her story had just been told. Where do you go after the end of the world? What purpose was there for you after you completed what you were born to do.

She was beginning to feel that piercing anxiety and that question of whether she truly did the right thing burning Agnes’s second book when there was a knock at the door. She almost thought it was Newt returning after just leaving but that was proven false at the loud banging. Newt didn’t have the nerve to bang upon a door like that.

“Oi!” she narrowed her eyes, it seemed the airfield wouldn’t be the last she saw of the book thief. She leaned against the door knowing he couldn’t enter unless she allowed it and let him bang.

When he paused in his banging, she called towards him without opening the door.

“What do you want?”

“I need help and if yer Agnes Nutter’s great whatever, I figure you’re the closest thing I go to for answers!”

She didn’t answer him, instead pivoting on her feet and going back to the couch. She sank down watching the evening news, turning up the volume as the book thief continued to pound at her door.

She had made her choice not to be a descendant and she wasn’t going back on it now, let him go find another witch.


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is a short chapter worth the wait I put you through?

Aziraphale had been working in the Dowling estate for seven years, Warlock was becoming too old now for a nanny but Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to leave a family that needed him so. He knew Crowley was becoming nervous about his lack of development but Aziraphale felt quite proud of himself. His influence must be rubbing off on the boy. 

“Pride is a sin,” Crowley had said and that brought the usual self-doubt. 

Aziraphale considered why Warlock wasn’t showing any of his devilish nature if it wasn’t from his angelic influence. He almost feared there may be something wrong with the lad as he absently began the daily bedtime routine. Was it possible in Lucifer defying Her orders and creating a life on his own damaged the child? Aziraphale worried his lip and fretted his hands, could it be possible the poor child was slowly dying? He found his eyes drifting upwards and felt his knees quaking a little. 

His thoughts and eyes were drawn down at a little tug on his apron. Warlock was staring up at him with pouted lips and narrowed eyes. 

“Nanny, you aren’t allowed to be sad, I already told you had to be happy all the time.” 

Aziraphale smiled pushing the boy towards his bed and settling him under his down blanket and tucking all his favorite stuffed animals around him. He picked up the copy of Matilda they had been reading from the nightstand and chuckled at the petulant sneer that wouldn’t drop from his ward’s face. 

“Nanny isn’t sad, darling, worried mayhaps, but not sad.” 

“What ya have to be worried for? Mother and father give us everything we need right here, and I don’t see why you would ever need much more then me.” 

Aziraphale kissed the boy on the cheek making his pout soften to a small smile, content to be doted on like always by his nanny. 

“There is always something to fret over, I’m afraid, but it will be fine, it always is. It’s ineffable really.” 

“What?” Warlock began once more not understanding the word. 

“Never you mind,” Aziraphale placed a kiss on his cheek before turning their attention back towards the book.

; 

Adam made slow progress on his bike to school, he was still debating testing out Pepper’s new theory he could make the whole school business more fun if he really put his mind to it. He had several ideas in mind, some involving learning and some throwing the entire concept out. Let the kids figure it out on their own, might be better off that way. 

He had made a detour and decided on the long way, the route that involved swinging by Jasmine Cottage and dropping Dog off for the day. He got lonely now that Adam had to leave every morning and he knew Anathema was always around for company. Maybe he would ask if his powers were still strong enough to really morph reality, he had noticed he was able to change things in small doses (got a few lectures for his chameleon hair lately), but wasn’t sure he would be able to write school out of existence yet. 

Those plans changed though as he spotted a car he remembered vaguely. He remembered dreams of fire and reality weaving itself back to where it had started before that day it was supposed to end. He didn't properly recall the demon's name but he knew him well, too well for someone who hadn't even properly introduced himself.

You get pulled into someone’s head once and it’s very hard to forget them, even if you didn’t know much else about them. Being in someone's head and rewriting their fate in dreams even makes strangers long time companions. 

“Oi,” Adam stated firmly steering his bike over to the demon currently having a mini crisis on the ground. His skin was turning to black scales and Adam had a keen eyesight and knew when he saw a hissing forked tongue and smoke fizzling through clenched fists. Dog growled towards the demon but didn't react further, glancing up at Adam. Adam scratched his dog behind the ear as he dismounted his bike, silently promising he would take care of this. He knew propping his bike against the car was just going to anger the demon but Adam didn't figure he would do much about it even if it did scratch.

“You are gonna light Anathema’s yard on fire if you don’t get a handle on yourself and I don’t want my town on fire.” 

The demon glared at him but otherwise didn’t respond. 

“What are you doing here anyway? I set the world the way it’s supposed to be, don’t see why Heaven or Hell would want to lurk around here.” 

Adam knew very well that if he really was human that look would have killed him, the glasses slipping down the demon’s nose and revealing blazing inhuman eyes would have willed anyone else’s heart to stop. Well any normal human anyhow. Not one of Adam’s friends since he wouldn’t allow it and Anathema was brilliant and would survive out of stubbornness. Maybe that Newt guy would die, definitely his so-called Witch Hunter General but no one of value to Adam. 

“Yer name was Adam wasn’t it?” the demon asked tilting his head towards the boy who gave him an even glare. 

“I don’t think I would change it.” 

“Do you still possess any power from yer dad’s side of the family?” 

; 

Something had changed. 

Michael felt it long before the gossip began to start up about the tear on the woven fabrics that made time and space, a gift from mother to help keep track of things. She had felt it long before she went to the record hall to see the cracks beginning to take root on the indestructible fabric. She had hoped lesser angels wouldn’t have the eye for detail to distinguish the cracks from galaxy linings or constellations, but one keen eye had caught it. 

Now no one was concentrating on their assignments, too busy lining the halls. 

Stray feathers lined the once immaculate marble floors where angels scrambled to escape Michael. Their fists were clenched, and their eyes were materializing. Each footstep sounded like a war trumpet.  
They made their way into the conference room and felt faint satisfaction that their siblings were already gathered, awaiting Michael to finally conclude on what was going on. Like all of Heaven, the room was marble and glowed faintly with holiness. The only difference was the accents of Gold from the pillars lining the walls and the furniture. Michael remembered Aziraphale liked to equate their chambers to mortal Royalty but Michael often punished him and anyone else for implying that. They considered Royals sinful and vain and would not allow her siblings to be comparable to them. 

“Please calm yourself,” Uriel began waving their hand and a golden chair appeared behind Michael for them to take their seat at the table along with their siblings. 

“A rift in the fabric is troubling,” Uriel only eyed Gabriel’s mumbled disagreement on it just being ‘more then troubling’ and ignored the fires of war not fading in Michael’s eyes, “But I do not believe it is cataclysmic.” 

“You didn’t oversee the stars being weaved or assist in time being spun into its fabric,” Gabriel pointed out in the off hand and demeaning way he usually did but unlike most, Uriel didn’t falter to his statement. 

“I am the only one left who helped create it, I did not design it nor did I construct it with my own hands but I had a hand in the blue prints and overseeing the construction. All the star weavers went with Lucifer when he fell, I am the only left who can give input.” 

Michael drummed their fingers, no one need voice it, they all knew the rift was made because the world didn’t end when it was supposed to. Aziraphale and all his bumbling may well have doomed every carefully constructed plan set from the very start. 

“Can’t we just contact the Prince of Hell? They are one of the few fallen who may have remembered their former positions and they were heavily involved in the construction of time itself along with Lucifer and may be able to fix whatever this is.” 

“Time isn’t affected,” Uriel said with a simple shake of the head, “The fabric of the universe is. I don’t know what this can even imply.” 

“What does that even mean?” Gabriel demanded losing his patience quickly slamming his fist on the table. 

“I don’t know, only Lucifer would know,” Uriel said with a shake of the head, “I helped in creating the star systems and helped the moon pull the seas for Earth, only She would know everything about the Tapestry and its design and our mother will not speak to us. The only option we could have in figuring it out is asking Lucifer and I don’t see that going over well.” 

“The Prince still owes me one, whether they know anything or not, it wouldn’t hurt to set up a meeting on their opinion on the matter.” 

Michael wasn’t sure admitting weakness to the opposition was a good idea but it was the only option they had.


End file.
